Recovery, chapter eight
summary: Ian dies of terminal cancer. Anthony encounters anger, a fan, and an old man.
rating: pg-13
warnings: sadness and foul language
Waking up at almost noon was becoming a disgusting habit of his, but since his friend died, Anthony just didn't have the strength to rise earlier. After he showered and used the last of his soap, then went to his fridge and realized they had run out of milk, however, he decided he had the strength to go grocery shopping.
With a quickly written list in some rather sloppy handwriting, Anthony went to the local supermarket, with the intent to buy he and Kalel some more necessities before the house became bare of items. Had he known what he would encounter in said market before going, he would never have parted from his bed.
He stood in the refrigerated section, scanning over the cartons of milk in attempt to remember what kind Kalel told him to get. His shopping cart only had a few things in it, but he was already halfway done.
"Anthony?" He heard a soft voice, and he turned to see a young girl. Around thirteen, straightened black hair, Smosh T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. She was a fan. He suddenly became very aware of his unstraightened hair, stubble that he didn't bother shaving, the dark circles under his eyes, his baggy tee and wrinkled shorts. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly.
"I um, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss. Ian." She said quietly, her voice wavering, pity on her face.
"Thank you." He said, his own throat feeling suddenly quite tight. She glanced back to an older woman, likely the mother she was out shopping with. She was dealing with two toddlers and seemed to have her hands full.
"I just wanted you to know how important Smosh is to me. And you and Ian. Seeing you guys together, acting like brothers, that meant so much to me." Her voice broke and she took in a shaky breath, visibly attempting to calm herself. "I have two brothers, and they're both younger than me, but I hope one day I have a relationship with them like you have - had with Ian."
"Ugh, thank - thanks." Anthony tried for a smile, but it came as a grimace, and he sighed. "That means a lot to me, and it - it would for Ian, too."
He felt like his throat had swollen up like crazy, and he could feel that his face was bright red and his nose was starting to run. He could vaguely sense that something was about to go very wrong.
"He always wanted to touch people like that, even - even if it was just through comedy-" A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it, more pity forming on the girl's face. "Sorry." He slurred out the word, and she shook her head, her own eyes getting watery.
"I'm sorry." He said again, more tears falling, and he put his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. The girl took a few steps towards him and put a hand on his forearm, and he turned his head, shoulders shaking as he cried quietly, ashamed and embarrassed.
"It's okay, Anthony." She said softly, her voice gone a little nasal. "It'll be okay."
"Ashley, what on Earth are you doing?" Anthony suddenly heard the voice of an older woman, and he turned and wiped him face, sniffling lamely. "What's going on here?" She demanded, sounding alarmed.
"No, mom, this is Anthony Padilla, from Smosh." The daughter, Ashley, said, and realization dawned on her mother's face, followed by a second, sadder wave of realization a moment later. Pity formed on her face as well.
"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Padilla. I apologize if my daughter troubled you."
Anthony shook his head and swallowed, trying to respond, but he couldn't get the words out.
"We have to get going. Have a nice day." She said, pulling her daughter away. Ashley gave him one final pitying gaze before returning to her mother's shopping cart and her two brothers. Anthony watched her pull one into an embrace, and he sucked in a deep breath, staring down at his cart. It seemed meaningless now, all that stuff, and he was aware of his red face and tears. He took one more quick look at the small family, now walking away, and abandoned his cart, rushing out of the store without buying anything.
He didn't think of much on his car ride home, his mind mostly blank. He did think of the tears he'd shed, and had to suffer a few moments of shame and anger, at both himself and that girl. He knew that moment would end up on the internet somewhere, becoming a permanent source of mortification.
Kalel wasn't home when he pulled into the garage, which gave him a bit of relief knowing that he didn't immediately have to be yelled at for not buying the groceries. He sat down in front of his computer and went slightly reluctantly to the Ianh channel, knowing Mari and Ryan had released a video and he needed to at least look at it.
"Hi everyone, so I'm Mari taking over Monday videos-"
"And I'm Ryan, today's amazing guest youtuber!"
"Since the loss of our friend Ian, Smosh is changing a little bit, which Anthony will be explaining in full on Friday, but for now let's get going on our new Monday video, Movie Monday!"
"Otherwise known as Asian Monday."
He heard them laugh and he scrolled down, not wanting to look at them any longer. The comments, however, didn't make him feel any better. They were all angry, no, furious, that the channel was still being used, and so soon after Ian's death. It was only eight days, and here they were moving on.
He looked at the top rated comments. 'Are you kidding, using this channel already? He died a week ago, douchebags. I can't believe this company is using this channel at all, let alone so quickly. I hope Anthony wasn't a part of this decision, you capitalist pigs.'
His surprise at the good grammar of the comment was far overshadowed by his anger. But he wasn't angry at the commenter, he was angry at himself, because it was true. They should've waited, hell, they should've never used the channel again to begin with. He himself should have stopped them all from having that meeting and kicked them all out, put the whole thing on a five year hiatus and then sell it. He hated himself and anyone involved with Smosh, including the fans who made him feel so awful and Ian for starting all the shit he did.
His anger was interrupted by the unexpected ring of the doorbell, and he made an attempt to calm himself before getting up and walking to the door. Expecting someone handing out pamphlets for a politician, or maybe one of Jehovah's Witnesses, he was unpleasantly surprised at the face he saw when he opened the door.
"Good afternoon, Anthony." Greeted the old man, and Anthony instantly knew who he was; Kris Rosenthal, Ian's therapist. He'd met him at the funeral, but only for a moment, and they didn't exactly get along.
"Um, hey. What are you - how did you get this address?" Anthony questioned, confused.
"Mrs. Hecox gave it to me. I'd love to explain it to you inside." Kris responded charmingly, though Anthony thought he looked a bit odd with his intelligent face and his Hawaiian print shirt. Anger not forgotten, he let the elder man in, who entered graciously and stood in the hallway, smiling politely at the man who let him in.
"Um, please, sit." Anthony pointed to one of the chairs at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and Kris thanked him and obliged. Pulling up a chair himself, Anthony asked, "So...what brings you here, Kris?"
"Well, at the funeral Ian's mother was kind enough to give me her phone number. I called her up yesterday and she invited me over for some tea. I was checking in on her to see how she was coping with her loss, and she mentioned that you don't seem to be doing so well."
"Really." Anthony said, tone flat with displeasure.
"Unfortunately. I just wanted to see how you were doing, Anthony, and see if I could offer any assistance." Kris' voice was pure and genuine, but in his anger, Anthony didn't hear it.
"You wanted to offer some therapy sessions so you can get a few bucks." Anthony muttered through gritted teeth. He heard the old man sigh.
"Son-"
"No. Do not call me your son. Don't call me your boy, in fact don't call me anything." Anthony seethed. "I'm none of that to you."
"I apologize, Anthony. Would you let me explain myself?" Kris asked, and Anthony nodded begrudgingly. "Alright. Ian and I bonded quite a bit in therapy, and he told me a lot about you and his mother. I wanted to take a day today to see how you both are. It was obvious how much he cared for you, and with the amount I cared for him, I must care for the two of you as well."
"If Ian cared about me as much as you think he did, then we wouldn't have met at his goddamn funeral." Anthony retorted. "He would've told me about the cancer, about the therapy, about-" he stopped short, not wanting to say the next words aloud. To his knowledge, the only other person who knew was Kalel, and that was because she read the letter, too.
"About what, Anthony? About what he felt for you?" Kris asked, and Anthony had that feeling again of being studied. "It was very hard for him to deal with."
"But you knew about it, and I didn't. You're just some old man, I was his best friend, he should've talked to me! He should've told me!" Anthony was starting to yell, his fury getting out of control.
"I cannot control the thoughts and actions of my patients, Anthony." Kris replied calmly. "My job was to ensure Ian's mental status was ideal during his time of need. I think I did decently."
"What the hell is wrong with you? How can you just sit here and defend yourself like that? How can you defend him? He had such little time left and he ruined it, he ruined us! He did it with his sickness and his secrets and loving me and telling me! He did it with that goddamned note, that note destroyed me! He was an idiot, and you're an old fool for caring!" Anthony yelled, and Kris' face became downcast, the complete opposite of the weather that day and his vibrant printed shirt.
"I understand why you're angry, Anthony, but I feel I can be of no use to you when you're acting this way." He stood, took his wallet from his trousers, and removed a piece of paper from it, placing it on the counter. "Here's my card. Call me when you're up to it and we'll have a talk. About whatever you need to talk about."
He parted without another word, Anthony still breathing heavily. He felt a drip of sweat slide down the side of his face, and he was suddenly aware of how hot he felt. Sweat was sticking his skin to his shirt, and his hair was curling intensely because of the heat. Overall he looked like crap, and felt even worse, almost ill with rage. He grabbed the card, wanting to throw it away, but guilt forced him to go to his bedroom and toss it into the drawer of his nightstand. He peeled off his damp shirt and plopped down on the edge of his bed, trying to breathe deeply and evenly, then let the weight of what he'd done sink in.
He just yelled at an old man. A stranger. And he didn't even know if the poor fellow deserved it. He was angry, yes, over everything that had occurred, but he knew screaming at Rosenthal didn't fix anything. He still felt a stubborn tug in his stomach, though, and instead of using as much logic as he could, or maybe calling someone to talk it out, he sat in pained silence, until he heard the door open and Kalel's kitten heels tap the floor. He listened to her greet Kabuki as she walked back through the house, then finally found him, sitting hunched over on their bed.
"Babe? You okay?" She stepped forward cautiously.
"Yeah." He lied, not looking at her.
"What's wrong?" She sat beside him, loosening the strap on one of her shoes. She looked at him expectantly, and he felt his face grow red.
"I didn't get the groceries."
"Why?"
"There was this girl at the store, this fan..." He could already feel the tears threatening to spill over. "She talked to me and I started sobbing, and now everyone's mad because we fucked up with the new video, and Ian's therapist thinks I'm insane." He put his hands over his face and stifled a sob, and she put her arms around him, gently rubbing his shoulders.
"Everything's gonna be okay, Ant." She whispered, Ian's old nickname for him hanging in the air. Anthony no longer held back his sobs, and for a very long time they sat wordless in the heat and pain of change.
Hey guys, I'm putting the author's notes down here because I figured there's a bigger chance of them being read (don't worry, I tend to skip the stuff at the top, too).
A/N1: I'll be trying to update this story as frequently as possible until March, at which point I'll be in Texas for an unknown amount of time. I'll try to get done as much as I can now because I know I won't be writing there.
A/N2: Here's a link to my previous entry in which I posted the rough drafts of Ian's letter, if you're interested. It's not the coolest post but whatever if you're bored or something go have a look.
A/N3: The rest of Recovery will be dedicated to Desirae, aka shadowdancer11, who, though I was not made aware of it until recently, passed away mid-November. She did apply to be one of the OCs in this story, so I'm still putting her in sans the bullying from Anthony. I'm not the religious sort, but if there's any chance that she has any knowledge of this story at all, then she deserves to know she's remembered, she's missed, and she will forever be a part of Recovery.
rating: pg-13
warnings: sadness and foul language
Waking up at almost noon was becoming a disgusting habit of his, but since his friend died, Anthony just didn't have the strength to rise earlier. After he showered and used the last of his soap, then went to his fridge and realized they had run out of milk, however, he decided he had the strength to go grocery shopping.
With a quickly written list in some rather sloppy handwriting, Anthony went to the local supermarket, with the intent to buy he and Kalel some more necessities before the house became bare of items. Had he known what he would encounter in said market before going, he would never have parted from his bed.
He stood in the refrigerated section, scanning over the cartons of milk in attempt to remember what kind Kalel told him to get. His shopping cart only had a few things in it, but he was already halfway done.
"Anthony?" He heard a soft voice, and he turned to see a young girl. Around thirteen, straightened black hair, Smosh T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. She was a fan. He suddenly became very aware of his unstraightened hair, stubble that he didn't bother shaving, the dark circles under his eyes, his baggy tee and wrinkled shorts. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly.
"I um, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss. Ian." She said quietly, her voice wavering, pity on her face.
"Thank you." He said, his own throat feeling suddenly quite tight. She glanced back to an older woman, likely the mother she was out shopping with. She was dealing with two toddlers and seemed to have her hands full.
"I just wanted you to know how important Smosh is to me. And you and Ian. Seeing you guys together, acting like brothers, that meant so much to me." Her voice broke and she took in a shaky breath, visibly attempting to calm herself. "I have two brothers, and they're both younger than me, but I hope one day I have a relationship with them like you have - had with Ian."
"Ugh, thank - thanks." Anthony tried for a smile, but it came as a grimace, and he sighed. "That means a lot to me, and it - it would for Ian, too."
He felt like his throat had swollen up like crazy, and he could feel that his face was bright red and his nose was starting to run. He could vaguely sense that something was about to go very wrong.
"He always wanted to touch people like that, even - even if it was just through comedy-" A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it, more pity forming on the girl's face. "Sorry." He slurred out the word, and she shook her head, her own eyes getting watery.
"I'm sorry." He said again, more tears falling, and he put his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. The girl took a few steps towards him and put a hand on his forearm, and he turned his head, shoulders shaking as he cried quietly, ashamed and embarrassed.
"It's okay, Anthony." She said softly, her voice gone a little nasal. "It'll be okay."
"Ashley, what on Earth are you doing?" Anthony suddenly heard the voice of an older woman, and he turned and wiped him face, sniffling lamely. "What's going on here?" She demanded, sounding alarmed.
"No, mom, this is Anthony Padilla, from Smosh." The daughter, Ashley, said, and realization dawned on her mother's face, followed by a second, sadder wave of realization a moment later. Pity formed on her face as well.
"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Padilla. I apologize if my daughter troubled you."
Anthony shook his head and swallowed, trying to respond, but he couldn't get the words out.
"We have to get going. Have a nice day." She said, pulling her daughter away. Ashley gave him one final pitying gaze before returning to her mother's shopping cart and her two brothers. Anthony watched her pull one into an embrace, and he sucked in a deep breath, staring down at his cart. It seemed meaningless now, all that stuff, and he was aware of his red face and tears. He took one more quick look at the small family, now walking away, and abandoned his cart, rushing out of the store without buying anything.
He didn't think of much on his car ride home, his mind mostly blank. He did think of the tears he'd shed, and had to suffer a few moments of shame and anger, at both himself and that girl. He knew that moment would end up on the internet somewhere, becoming a permanent source of mortification.
Kalel wasn't home when he pulled into the garage, which gave him a bit of relief knowing that he didn't immediately have to be yelled at for not buying the groceries. He sat down in front of his computer and went slightly reluctantly to the Ianh channel, knowing Mari and Ryan had released a video and he needed to at least look at it.
"Hi everyone, so I'm Mari taking over Monday videos-"
"And I'm Ryan, today's amazing guest youtuber!"
"Since the loss of our friend Ian, Smosh is changing a little bit, which Anthony will be explaining in full on Friday, but for now let's get going on our new Monday video, Movie Monday!"
"Otherwise known as Asian Monday."
He heard them laugh and he scrolled down, not wanting to look at them any longer. The comments, however, didn't make him feel any better. They were all angry, no, furious, that the channel was still being used, and so soon after Ian's death. It was only eight days, and here they were moving on.
He looked at the top rated comments. 'Are you kidding, using this channel already? He died a week ago, douchebags. I can't believe this company is using this channel at all, let alone so quickly. I hope Anthony wasn't a part of this decision, you capitalist pigs.'
His surprise at the good grammar of the comment was far overshadowed by his anger. But he wasn't angry at the commenter, he was angry at himself, because it was true. They should've waited, hell, they should've never used the channel again to begin with. He himself should have stopped them all from having that meeting and kicked them all out, put the whole thing on a five year hiatus and then sell it. He hated himself and anyone involved with Smosh, including the fans who made him feel so awful and Ian for starting all the shit he did.
His anger was interrupted by the unexpected ring of the doorbell, and he made an attempt to calm himself before getting up and walking to the door. Expecting someone handing out pamphlets for a politician, or maybe one of Jehovah's Witnesses, he was unpleasantly surprised at the face he saw when he opened the door.
"Good afternoon, Anthony." Greeted the old man, and Anthony instantly knew who he was; Kris Rosenthal, Ian's therapist. He'd met him at the funeral, but only for a moment, and they didn't exactly get along.
"Um, hey. What are you - how did you get this address?" Anthony questioned, confused.
"Mrs. Hecox gave it to me. I'd love to explain it to you inside." Kris responded charmingly, though Anthony thought he looked a bit odd with his intelligent face and his Hawaiian print shirt. Anger not forgotten, he let the elder man in, who entered graciously and stood in the hallway, smiling politely at the man who let him in.
"Um, please, sit." Anthony pointed to one of the chairs at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and Kris thanked him and obliged. Pulling up a chair himself, Anthony asked, "So...what brings you here, Kris?"
"Well, at the funeral Ian's mother was kind enough to give me her phone number. I called her up yesterday and she invited me over for some tea. I was checking in on her to see how she was coping with her loss, and she mentioned that you don't seem to be doing so well."
"Really." Anthony said, tone flat with displeasure.
"Unfortunately. I just wanted to see how you were doing, Anthony, and see if I could offer any assistance." Kris' voice was pure and genuine, but in his anger, Anthony didn't hear it.
"You wanted to offer some therapy sessions so you can get a few bucks." Anthony muttered through gritted teeth. He heard the old man sigh.
"Son-"
"No. Do not call me your son. Don't call me your boy, in fact don't call me anything." Anthony seethed. "I'm none of that to you."
"I apologize, Anthony. Would you let me explain myself?" Kris asked, and Anthony nodded begrudgingly. "Alright. Ian and I bonded quite a bit in therapy, and he told me a lot about you and his mother. I wanted to take a day today to see how you both are. It was obvious how much he cared for you, and with the amount I cared for him, I must care for the two of you as well."
"If Ian cared about me as much as you think he did, then we wouldn't have met at his goddamn funeral." Anthony retorted. "He would've told me about the cancer, about the therapy, about-" he stopped short, not wanting to say the next words aloud. To his knowledge, the only other person who knew was Kalel, and that was because she read the letter, too.
"About what, Anthony? About what he felt for you?" Kris asked, and Anthony had that feeling again of being studied. "It was very hard for him to deal with."
"But you knew about it, and I didn't. You're just some old man, I was his best friend, he should've talked to me! He should've told me!" Anthony was starting to yell, his fury getting out of control.
"I cannot control the thoughts and actions of my patients, Anthony." Kris replied calmly. "My job was to ensure Ian's mental status was ideal during his time of need. I think I did decently."
"What the hell is wrong with you? How can you just sit here and defend yourself like that? How can you defend him? He had such little time left and he ruined it, he ruined us! He did it with his sickness and his secrets and loving me and telling me! He did it with that goddamned note, that note destroyed me! He was an idiot, and you're an old fool for caring!" Anthony yelled, and Kris' face became downcast, the complete opposite of the weather that day and his vibrant printed shirt.
"I understand why you're angry, Anthony, but I feel I can be of no use to you when you're acting this way." He stood, took his wallet from his trousers, and removed a piece of paper from it, placing it on the counter. "Here's my card. Call me when you're up to it and we'll have a talk. About whatever you need to talk about."
He parted without another word, Anthony still breathing heavily. He felt a drip of sweat slide down the side of his face, and he was suddenly aware of how hot he felt. Sweat was sticking his skin to his shirt, and his hair was curling intensely because of the heat. Overall he looked like crap, and felt even worse, almost ill with rage. He grabbed the card, wanting to throw it away, but guilt forced him to go to his bedroom and toss it into the drawer of his nightstand. He peeled off his damp shirt and plopped down on the edge of his bed, trying to breathe deeply and evenly, then let the weight of what he'd done sink in.
He just yelled at an old man. A stranger. And he didn't even know if the poor fellow deserved it. He was angry, yes, over everything that had occurred, but he knew screaming at Rosenthal didn't fix anything. He still felt a stubborn tug in his stomach, though, and instead of using as much logic as he could, or maybe calling someone to talk it out, he sat in pained silence, until he heard the door open and Kalel's kitten heels tap the floor. He listened to her greet Kabuki as she walked back through the house, then finally found him, sitting hunched over on their bed.
"Babe? You okay?" She stepped forward cautiously.
"Yeah." He lied, not looking at her.
"What's wrong?" She sat beside him, loosening the strap on one of her shoes. She looked at him expectantly, and he felt his face grow red.
"I didn't get the groceries."
"Why?"
"There was this girl at the store, this fan..." He could already feel the tears threatening to spill over. "She talked to me and I started sobbing, and now everyone's mad because we fucked up with the new video, and Ian's therapist thinks I'm insane." He put his hands over his face and stifled a sob, and she put her arms around him, gently rubbing his shoulders.
"Everything's gonna be okay, Ant." She whispered, Ian's old nickname for him hanging in the air. Anthony no longer held back his sobs, and for a very long time they sat wordless in the heat and pain of change.
Hey guys, I'm putting the author's notes down here because I figured there's a bigger chance of them being read (don't worry, I tend to skip the stuff at the top, too).
A/N1: I'll be trying to update this story as frequently as possible until March, at which point I'll be in Texas for an unknown amount of time. I'll try to get done as much as I can now because I know I won't be writing there.
A/N2: Here's a link to my previous entry in which I posted the rough drafts of Ian's letter, if you're interested. It's not the coolest post but whatever if you're bored or something go have a look.
A/N3: The rest of Recovery will be dedicated to Desirae, aka shadowdancer11, who, though I was not made aware of it until recently, passed away mid-November. She did apply to be one of the OCs in this story, so I'm still putting her in sans the bullying from Anthony. I'm not the religious sort, but if there's any chance that she has any knowledge of this story at all, then she deserves to know she's remembered, she's missed, and she will forever be a part of Recovery.